It’s 7:30 on Sunday night and I just got back from Scout’s House. Mysteriously, a section of the ceiling in our Rehab room came crashing to the ground late this afternoon–just as the Jets were starting to come on against the Chargers–and I was called to “come quick!” because the roof’s falling in.
It turned out the roof hadn’t actually fallen in, just the ceiling, and apparently only because some roofers, many years ago, decided to shovel all the gravel from the old tar-and-gravel roof onto the plaster ceiling and leave it there. Today, the ceiling gave up and let gravity have its way and, with a rumble and a roar, it all came tumbling down–down onto one of the desks in Rehab, down onto the computer sitting on one of the desks in Rehab, and down onto the floor. Thank god no one was sitting there at the time.
So Rehab is closed tomorrow morning while the disaster recovery company has a crew clean up the inches of dust that’s covering everything in the space. The room looks like a bomb went off in there, but thanks to our landlord, most of the gravel has been removed, and thanks to my dear co-worker and friend, Sandy Gregory, all of tomorrow morning’s patients have been rescheduled to other times.
Best of all, no one was hurt–canine, feline, or human–and for that I am truly grateful. But it’s times like this when I wish someone else had the big idea to start a rehab center for animals in Menlo Park. If they had, I could have stayed home tonight and watch the Jets beat the Chargers. Then again, maybe this was more exciting.